


The Beginning of a Certain End

by codedredalert



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Family, Gen, Languages and Linguistics, Moral Dilemmas, Time Travel, Young Doflamingo, canon mentions of slavery, young Cora-san
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2020-04-08 07:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19102693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codedredalert/pseuds/codedredalert
Summary: Mother is dying. They can't go back to Mariejoise even if they beg — and Fatherdidbeg. A young Doflamingo is beginning to learn why he should hate the world.Trafalgar Law wakes in the past where he could easily kill the man he hates most and prevent countless tragedies… or gamble that he can change history and save an angry child from becoming a monster.





	1. formless/turmoil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta for this chapter [donutsandcoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsandcoffee/pseuds/donutsandcoffee).

 

Trafalgar Law woke to sub-zero seawater sinking needle teeth of cold into his legs.

He scrambled away instinctively up the steep beach, sending sand and pebbles flying as he fought against the incline. As soon as he was clear of the water, he Shambled up past the crest of the slope and sat there, heart pounding as he looked around.

“Where-?” Law's brow furrowed in confusion as he took in the dreary shingle beach, the sparse vegetation and the grey sky touched with pink in the end of sunset. He shivered, his short-sleeved shirt and jeans woefully inadequate against the cold.

The last place he remembered being was a temple ruin on a tropical island. There had been a storm in that way only tropical rainforests could have storms, a torrential downpour with rain coming down in heavy sheets till the world turned white. The path back to the sub had flooded til waist high, so Law had decided to wait out the rain. He had fallen asleep to the distant rumble of thunder and rain washing over the temple like sand.

Law sneezed and frowned. He needed to either get to civilisation or start a fire. Answers could wait. Hypothermia wasn't nearly as patient.

===/\===

Thankfully, Law had chanced upon a path before the light was completely gone from the sky. The path led straight to a small village. One of the buildings had a beer mug sign and cheerful yellow light streaming through the window.

The wave of heat which hit Law as he pushed open the door to the bar was welcome but almost hurt as it sank into his numbed hands and face. There was a good crowd, which hushed for a moment to look at him. Law ignored them and went straight to the counter.

“Something warm and non-alcoholic, I don't care what,” were Law's first words to the barkeep, a stocky older lady with greying brown hair and brown eyes. She raised an eyebrow, but looking at Law shivering in only a thin cotton shirt, she took pity and gave him a steaming cup of hot water before asking any questions.

Law took the water gratefully and wrapped both hands around the cup. He tried to sip the water but scalded his tongue so he lowered the cup back to the counter. The barkeep looked at him expectantly and Law remembered he ought to mind his manners if he wanted information out of her.

“Thanks,” he said. The barkeep nodded and tilted her head, considering his appearance.

“What happened to you?” she asked in North Blue Creole. Law took a moment to place the words and find his tongue. As his crew had expanded to include members from other oceans, Grand Line Pidgin had slowly become the dominant tongue aboard the Polar Tang. It had been quite a long time since he'd spoken Creole.

“Shipwreck.” Law lied to her face without so much as blinking. “Where am I?”

The lady said an unfamiliar name that Law didn't quite catch and didn't quite care enough to ask again.

“North Blue?” asked Law and she nodded.

“Ya, of course. Were you not in the North already?” she asked, confused.

“Just checking. There was a bad storm.” A tropical storm, while Law had been tucked inside the inner rooms of a temple so he could barely hear the rain. Still, a bit of truth always helped to ease the lies along. “Woke up on a beach twenty minutes from here. Nearly froze to death.”

“Luck of the devil kept you alive.”

That was so true it was almost ironic, both for this particular situation and Law's life in general. Law smiled grimly.

“A good way to put it,” replied Law. He took a seat at the high barstool next to him at the counter. “Where can I find warmer clothes?”

Law was decently handsome by North Blue standards, and it got him places. The barkeep, Bera, was part of some society of little old ladies who knitted together once a week. They were also conspiring against the local doctor because he took slave trader money. The knitting society was only too happy to provide Law with clothes, food and lodging. In exchange, Law had to provide his services at low or no cost, and help out with the bar and the local pharmacy.

As he settled into bed in his new room on the third floor of the bar, Law got the feeling things were going a bit too smoothly.

===/\===

Law discovered he had time-travelled the following morning.

It was frankly underwhelming. He had read the newspaper at breakfast. The date was in the top right hand corner of the first page. 9 May 1491.

“Is this today's date?” he asked, holding out the paper to Bera. She took the paper he offered and peered at it.

“Ya. Why?” she asked, handing it back. “Were you lost at sea for many days?”

“Apparently,” murmured Law, looking back at the paper.

1491\. Law hadn't even been born yet.

Law felt decidedly neutral about that. Stranger things had happened in the Grand Line. In fact, Law was more concerned about his own lack of shock. Perhaps his time with the Strawhats had desensitised him.

He sat back and considered the implications of this.

He had no bounty here and the Ope-Ope fruit still worked. He could travel freely, perhaps even use the marines to cross the Calm Belt.

If he could somehow get back to the New World, back to that island temple, he might find a way to reverse this time travel issue. And he had best work quickly. His crew could take care of themselves, but without his instructions, there was only so long they would wait before they went looking for him and realised he was missing. They would worry, and they wouldn't even find a body.

That was important—the knowing part. Law had seen enough of the world to know that much. If he didn't make it back, his crew would never know what had happened to him. He refused to do that to them.

Law opened the paper again, intent on establishing what events had or had not happened yet. A small article caught his eye—

‘Amber Lead prices at all time high’.

—and suddenly, he couldn't breathe.

The short sentence knocked all the air out of his lungs. Everything went numb except the dizzying rush of blood in his head. If he weren't already sitting, he might have fallen.

Law lowered the paper with shaking hands.

Of course. The year was 1491.

Flevance hadn't burned yet.

Flevance, the accursed White City, was shining bright and beautiful and everything, every _one_ , in it was alive and well and so painfully fucking ignorant but still alive.

He could—

               (dare he even think it?)

— _save Flevance_.

 

===/\===

Doflamingo had trained Law with a very precise image in mind of what he wanted in a right-hand man.

Corazón the Third could kill a city and be home in time for a mid-morning coffee. He could parley with kings and crime lords alike and have them wrapped around his little finger in minutes flat. He would die for Doflamingo, except he wouldn't because his duty was to lay the spoils of victory at the foot of Doflamingo's throne and he always delivered.

Law never did become Corazón the Third like Doflamingo had hoped, but he had been close enough. Rocky Port, Punk Hazard and Dressrosa were proof.

And, fortunately, the skill set required to kill a city and the skill set required to save one were very nearly the same.

===/\===

The fastest way to the New World from the North Blue was by marine warship, cutting straight across the monster-infested Calm Belt on the otherwise shared body of water.

Unfortunately, marines largely turned a blind eye to the hunting grounds favoured by slave traders, especially places which defied the world government. The island Law was stranded on was one such place. Law quickly discovered that marines visited maybe once a year or less.

The next plan was to take a ship to another island, preferably one under the auspices of the world government and get passage with a marine ship there. If that didn't work out, there were pirates and slaver ships aplenty headed for the Grand Line via Reverse Mountain. Still, Law didn't want to give up on the marine ship too quickly. Navigators good enough to tackle the Grand Line were few and far between. Blindly tagging along with the first ship that came along was not a good plan by any measure.

Worse come to worst, Zoro-ya had sworn on three crates of _sake_ that the Warlord Dracule Mihawk regularly sailed the Grand Line in a literal coffin with a mast. If he got desperate enough, Law might be willing to try the same.

In the meantime, Law focused on earning beri and goodwill from the townspeople. They took to him quickly enough. He didn't have to pretend to agree when they cursed the world government, slavers, and marines.

Law's patients were mostly used and discarded goods of the slave trade or too weak to be of any use when taken. He treated their physical injuries and talked them through the non-physical ones the best he could. He got cried on a lot.

Law hit his objective about a month in. This town had no official government, but if there were ever any decisions to make, everyone looked to old man Hardy. Hardy was a fisherman, and he liked to joke that he was always right because he was missing his left eye, left ear, left hand and left leg from the knee down.

Late one night, old man Hardy bought Law a beer and waved for Law to have a seat next to him instead of closing up the bar.

"This old man, he has been hearing very many good things about you, young doctor," said Hardy. "This town could do with good men like you."

Law shook his head and tried not to snort at that statement. Law, a good man? He'd done far worse things than anyone on this island had been through.

"I have people to get back to. I can't stay long term."

"That is too bad. The young girls will be heartbroken." Hardy laughed. "Well, if you need anything, you let us know.”

Perfect. Law couldn't have set it up better if he'd scripted the entire conversation. He feigned a moment of hesitation, the reluctance to impose on a blank check.

"I need a ship to the Grand Line," admitted Law, and then he watched.

Hardy's lip curled and Law carefully didn't react to that. Had he misjudged? The straight forward approach had seemed to work with the townspeople so far. Law started to draw back, mind racing as to how he could turn this around but Hardy spoke first.

"Only slavers go to the Grand Line from here. There is no ship I trust to bring you. You are too useful. Too young and handsome. They will take you as merchandise, not as a passenger."

Law made a wordless hum of acknowledgment. He doubted any slaver in the North Blue actually had the capability to capture him. Still, Law was alone and so had to be cautious.

"Maybe I'll have to set sail alone," commented Law. Dracule Mihawk's coffin-boat came to mind yet again. Law grimaced at the thought of tackling Reverse Mountain in something like that.

"Maybe. But we will see. Maybe this old man can find you a ship." 

"Let me know if you do. Thanks."

===/\===

There was a huddle in the alley behind the bar where Law took out the trash, maybe five or six townspeople crowded into a corner, shouting and kicking something that yelped pitifully.

Law tossed the trash into the open dumpster and walked over to them.

"What are you doing?" he asked, voice raised. The group turned to look at him. A small figure hidden among their feet make a choking sound. No, there were two figures, small but humanoid. One was curled up, with hands over its head. The other was face down in the dirt and unmoving.

"Those are _children_ ," remarked Law, frowning.

Immediately, whatever spell of silence his approach had cast on the group was broken. One man scoffed.

"Nah, these are Celestial Dragons. They can't be kids if they aren't human."

He gave the cowering figure a vicious kick. The child cried out in pain.

" _Stop_ that." Law stepped forward, glaring. The man took half a step back before scowling.

"Don't be a bleeding heart, doctor. They aren't _human_."

"I don't care. I told you to stop."

The man looked like he had something to say to that, but the woman beside him placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Let them live," she told him. Something about the way she said it loaded the phrase with meaning and authority. It was almost as if she were reciting a proverb.

The man backed down. The woman nodded to the rest of the group and they filed past Law, out of the alley. The man stopped in front of Law, jaw clenched and a vein popping in his temple. Law wondered if the man would actually try to start a fight, but the man just leaned forward and spoke threateningly.

"One day, Celestial Dragons will take everything from you and then you'll understand."

Law said nothing, and the man left, trailing after the rest of the group. Once the group was out of earshot, Law turned to the corner where the two children were.

The still-conscious boy with hair covering his face had crawled over to the boy lying face down in the dirt. He spoke to the unconscious boy in a language that made Law do a double-take. Sacred Word—its use by anyone who was not a Celestial Dragon was forbidden on pain of death. What a surefire way for the boy to mark himself for a bleak future, either as a Celestial Dragon without protection or a death row criminal at the tender age of six. No wonder they had been mobbed.

Law approached, intent on answers. The child's attention snapped to Law. He stared up, small and plaintive.

“Please don hurt dus,” the child pleaded softly in Creole, putting his hands up to protect his face.

Law crouched to be eye-level with the child. The child shrank back.

“ _Are you hurt_?” asked Law in Sacred Word after a long moment. His lessons in the language by Cora-san and Doflamingo were a lifetime ago, but he still remembered enough to string simple sentences together.

The child's jaw dropped and he started babbling quickly, too fast for Law to follow. Law only picked up the word “ _brother_ ”.

Law held up a hand to pause the tirade of words and shook his head to show he didn't understand. The child's entire bearing fell immediately.

“ _Please don't hurt us_ ,” the child said in Sacred Word, his tone dejected. Law only knew the phrase by its constituent parts. Please [action (negative)] hurt us (plural, exclusive).

“ _I won't_ ,” assured Law, before turning his attention to the body on the ground.

The unconscious boy was taller than the other boy, though both were painfully thin. Both had the same dirty blonde hair, though the older one's was hacked short and uneven.

Law reached out and the conscious boy made a soft cry of alarm, grabbing Law's arm.

" _Please! Don't hurt us_ ," he begged again. Through the matted curtain of blonde hair covering his eyes, one tear rolled down his cheek, and then another. " _Please_!"

" _I won't,_ " repeated Law as calmly as he could. He showed his open palms to the younger boy to show he meant no harm. Slowly, Law held out a hand over the older boy's prone form, hovering an inch or two from actually touching him.

A quick scan told Law that there were no injuries which made it too dangerous to move the boy. With a look at the younger brother for permission, Law gently turned the unconscious boy face-up.

One look at the boy's face and Law froze. The world around him froze too, sound and sense of time muting to nothingness.

Law knew that face. The brow ridge and the prominent corners of the wide forehead were distinctive even in youth. Law could see the perfectly straight line of his nose, the shape the jaw would fill out to be in adulthood. Even without the sunglasses the boy wore, Law would have known this was Doflamingo.

Law sat back on his heels, mind numb and racing at the same time.

In all his years, Law had never imagined Doflamingo so small. The thought simply never occurred to him. Doflamingo had always been larger than life, towering head and shoulders over normal people. When Law was a child, Doflamingo had been a veritable giant. Even in adulthood, Doflamingo had been able to pick Law up in one huge hand and toss him aside like a ragdoll.

This Doflamingo was too small to kill Cora-san, or rip Law's arm off with paramecia strings. This Doflamingo was too young to conquer Dressrosa and make playthings of its people. This Doflamingo was not yet Joker, he didn't have wide underground nets of informants and footsoldiers—didn't have anything except an unawakened conqueror's _haki_ , and Law had learned to resist conqueror's _haki_ a long time ago.

Looking at the boy with his face covered with dirt and blood and bruises, it was hard to imagine him a tyrant but Law didn't have to imagine—he _knew_. This seemingly small thing before him would kill and torment and take the guiding light out of Law's life because he already had.

Hatred like poison boiled up in Law's chest, gripping his arms and bringing his hands to Doflamingo's fragile neck. His hands fit easily, he could snap Doflamingo's neck with one hand, the possibility was surreal.

Maybe it was wrong to punish someone before their actions damned them but Law didn't give a fuck. One wrong was nothing compared to Doflamingo's multitude.

Law could kill him and the world would go on turning, ignorant of the horrors he saved it from. Everyone would live and—

Cora-san would be safe.

A hand entered his vision, gripped his arm with all the strength of a desperate child. The other boy was cringing as soon as Law looked at him but he didn't move from where he had crawled to place himself between Law and the unconscious Doflamingo. His brother. Doflamingo only had one brother.

One small hand came up to wipe away terrified tears, showing dark bruises and deep red irises. Law was reflected in those eyes, a dark shadow of a man, the would-be murderer of this boy's brother.

“ _Please don't hurt us_ ,” six-year-old Cora-san begged.

 

 

 

Law left tiny Cora-san and the unconscious Doflamingo at the doorstep of a shack hidden in a landfill. He fled back to the bar to grip the sink like a lifeline and tremble before the bathroom mirror.

===/\===

The choices lined up. Simple, but painful, and never easy.

His crew or Flevance?

Flevance. Law loved his crew, as much as he could love anything in the broken wreck of his psyche, but the choice was obvious. There was no guarantee on his return through time travel and Law would never live long enough to somehow meet them in this timeline. With how much he used his powers and abused his body? He'd be lucky to see forty.

Flevance or Cora-san?

Cora-san. He had time before Flevance's disastrous fall from grace. Even if he didn't, Flevance could burn as long as Law's family got out alive. Law protected his own fiercely, but anyone else was fair game for the capricious whims of fate. He could have both, but Cora-san was here now, starving and in pain. Cora-san would have to come first.

Cora-san's safety or Cora-san's happiness?

They both went hand in hand until the matter of Doflamingo. Should Law kill Doflamingo now? But Cora-san loved his brother. He always did, right up to the end when Doflamingo shot him. If Cora-san grew to hate Law as much as Law hated Doflamingo for killing Cora-san, Law would rather die.

Cora-san's safety or Cora-san's happiness?

Law spent a sleepless night turning this question over in his mind again and again. Dawn broke over the horizon and gentle light streamed in through the window by Law's untouched bed and Law still had no answer. He couldn't answer, he didn't have any right to make that decision.

With a heart heavy with indecision, Law took his coat and quietly turned his footsteps back to the little shack in the landfill.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I am HELLA weak against time travel fic and one day I craved Law and young Doflamingo interaction. I found nothing online, and then I found myself staring down a blank word doc. Hahahha.  
> (Save me.) 


	2. potential/resistance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [nevermordor ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevermordor/pseuds/nevermordor)for beta-ing, and all my other friends who patiently listened to me agonise over this fic for the last few months.

 

Pain shot through his ribs, sharp, aborting the deeper inhale that came with waking up. Doflamingo woke but couldn't breathe. He clutched at his side and took breaths so shallow they were just mouthfuls of air and grimacing.

Pain was something new, the scraped knees and careless bruises of Mariejoise didn't even count as pain anymore in his memories. There were a lot of new things: hunger, thirst, filth, illness, the taste of bile, the smell of blood and wound discharge, bone-aching cold that made the body shake into wakefulness where pain and an empty, churning stomach became a desperate full-body prayer to just _stop_. 

Actually, a lot of new things were just different types of pain. Pain, and the threshold it took to pass out into sweet oblivion.

A movement in the corner of his eye broke Doflamingo from his thoughts. His brother settled by his side, small and topped by an unruly mop of blonde hair. Small hands hovered over him but didn't touch.

"Doffy," whispered Rosinante. He had new bruises near the soft parts of his eyes. "It's okay, we're home. We're safe."

"What happened?" asked Doflamingo and the breath he took to say that sent a spike of pain through him that made him stop breathing altogether. He gritted his teeth, and tried to hold himself together with an arm across his ribs. A drop of water hit the ground beside him with a soft 'plonk', splashing a cold droplet on his face. The shitty roof of their makeshift house was leaking. Again.

Shallow breaths. He was fine. So what if breathing was difficult? He was _fine_. 

Rosinante shifted uncomfortably.

"Commoners found us," answered Rosinante reluctantly. "And they kicked you and kicked you and it was _horrible_. Then, another commoner man talked to them, and they went away. He carried you home and left." Rosinante's hand curled in Doflamingo's sleeve. "He said he won't hurt us but he was scary. I was really, really scared, Doffy, but I didn't know what else to do."

Well, that answered how they had gotten home. Rosinante didn't have the strength to drag him all the way from the centre of town. It also meant one of the peasants from town now knew where the new house was, so they couldn't stay here much longer. 

"It's fine, Rosi." 

Rosinante breathed in relief at the affirmation and Doflamingo closed his eyes. As he willed the pain in his side under control, he began to notice pain elsewhere—his shoulder, a fresh row of broken skin along his left calf, still bleeding sluggishly. 

Life wasn't meant to be like this. These peasants, commoners, how _dare_ they? He would pay them back tenfold. 

Doflamingo folded that thought down with grim satisfaction, tucked it in his heart to fuel the compressed rage that kept him going when there was no food or sleep or heat. He could live a long time off burning thoughts like those. They made good kindling against the bleak days and days and days of miserable survival.

In their sole, half-broken bed, Mother hacked and coughed, all her lungfuls of air pushed out of her throat, accompanied by an awful, wet rasping noise.

Rosinante's head turned to her, and then back to Doflamingo.

"Are you okay now, Doffy?" he asked.

No. But there was nothing Rosinante could do even if he stayed hovering next to Doflamingo.

"Go," Doflamingo told his brother. Rosinante nodded and got up, leaving Doflamingo with his pain and anger and nothing for it but to try to sleep. In the background, he heard Rosinante climb up on the bed. It creaked.

"Water, Mother."

Drinking. More coughing. The soft clink of the cup on the side-table.

"Thank you. Let's sleep, alright, my darlings? Tomorrow will be a new day."

"Yes, Mother," said Rosinante. 

Doflamingo mustered up the effort to speak as well.

"Yes, Mother," he said from the floor.

He stared up at the shitty, rotting plywood roof and took shallow breaths, shallow breaths, and closed his eyes. Mother coughed and comforted Rosinante softly when he cried and eventually, Father came home, a bucket of fresh water in hand. The whole shack groaned and shuddered in the wind as he opened the door and the cold rushed in.

Doflamingo wasn't sure if he slept, but the night was very, very long.

 

===/\===

 

In the drifting haze of pain and half-sleep, there came a knock on the door. It rattled the flimsy wood and Doflamingo could see someone's shoes through the gap. The light streaming in was broken by two long pillars of darkness.

Inside, there was a sudden movement as Father got up and shook Mother awake. Doflamingo's eyes widened as he realised he wasn't dreaming.

A knock on the door again, very loud and very real.  A stab of pain went through Doflamingo's side as he tensed.

 _They found us._ The thought brought with it a spike of animalistic fear, nearly paralysing. Then, on the next shallow breath, reason returned and Doflamingo realised he'd just been cowed into helplessness by some commoner. Outraged, he sat up immediately, nearly choking as pain lanced through his side.

Father's large, warm hand was on his back, grounding through the pain, and helping him to his feet. Dolfamingo couldn't breathe and he clung to Father, trying not to pass out from the dizziness of suddenly standing up, and the pain in his ribs.

"Doflamingo, son," Father whispered, low and urgent, bodily holding him up. "I need you to help your mother and Rosinante out the window. All of you need to run to the place I showed you last time, as fast as you can. Can you do that? Please?"

"Hurts," was all Doflamingo could say against the pain of every breath. Father's face looked as pained as Doflamingo felt, the brows scrunching together and the gleam of tears in his eyes.

"I know you're hurting, and I'm so sorry I have to ask this of you, but the family needs you. Can you do it?"

Behind Father, Doflamingo could see Mother opening the window by the bed, Rosinante in her arms. Rosinante's arms around her neck were so small.

"I can," promised Doflamingo. Father kissed him on the forehead.

"Good boy. Thank you." He helped Doflamingo up on the bed, where Mother had already stepped through the window. Father kissed Rosinante on the forehead too and passed him through the window to Mother. She just managed to carry him and set his feet on the ground, trembling weakly. Doflamingo jumped through and grit his teeth as the impact of landing jarred him. He stumbled into Mother, and instantly her hands were on the back of his shoulders and head, steadying him against her.

"I'll be with you as soon as I can, love," Father whispered.

"Stay safe, love, and come back to us," Mother replied.

"I—"

 _Knock-knock-knock_.

The person knocked again, more impatient this time, sharp and insistent, as if to say "I know you're in there." Doflamingo wanted to snarl at them. Why did they even bother? Who was it, anyway? The villagers never knocked.

"Go, quickly," urged Father, pulling back to close the window as far as it would go, leaving that gap which they had never managed to fix. "Stay safe. I love you."

"I love you," replied Mother, and she took Doflamingo's hand in her left and Rosinante's in her right.

" _Coming_!" Father directed at the door in North Blue Creole. Most of the family slaves used to speak it, back when the family still had slaves. Doflamingo had learned it so he could give orders directly instead of asking Father every time.

Doflamingo couldn't help but crane his head round to look through the fogged-up panes of the window even as they started walking away. Father and Mother had said to go quickly, but really, they were going quite slow, partly because of Mother's weakness and partly because Rosinante's clumsiness would alert the stranger for sure if they walked any faster. 

In the house, through the window, Doflamingo could see Father open the door. Father's body blocked most of the view but he could still see the shadow of a tall man.

" _Hello_?" asked Father, still in Creole. 

"Keep walking, my darlings," whispered Mother, taking his hand, but some magnetic fascination kept Doflamingo standing there, watching the sliver of dark in the doorway through the window, the stranger blocking the light.

"Donquixote," said the stranger. Said and not asked, in a measured, neutral tone. He sounded utterly uninterested, but somehow also threatening. There was a pause, and the sense that the stranger was looking in past Father.

"My darlings, don't stop, please, we have to go," urged Mother, pulling gently.

" _Where is Rosinante_?" asked the stranger sharply.

Mother froze. Doflamingo looked at Rosinante, who had also stopped to stare. Whatever force had compelled Doflamingo to stay and watch had seemed to have done the same to him.

Rosinante looked up at Mother.

"How does he know my name?" asked Rosinante, accidentally a touch too loud.

For a second, nobody moved. Nobody even breathed. Then—

A wordless shout of alarm from Father. Doflamingo looked up through the window and the shape in the doorway was gone.

"Run!" shouted Father.

Mother ran, and pulled their hands hard. Doflamingo stumbled with surprise and Mother managed to bodily hold him up with a strength at odds with the sickness that left her too tired to lift a glass of water on most days. She ran, pulling Doflamingo and Rosinante along, and they went maybe five, maybe ten steps—right into the stranger as he rounded the corner of the house.

He was tall and a swirl of dark cloaks. Black hair, dark skin. Deep-set, dark-ringed eyes, shadowed by the brim of his hat but catching too much light, shining like an animal's.

"Run!" shouted Mother, a shout for her, barely above talking volume and cracked with sickness. She pushed Doflamingo and Rosinante forward and threw herself at the stranger, desperate.

"Mother?" asked Rosinante, stopping in his tracks, unsure and scared. Doflamingo took his hand and started running, strangely numb to the pain in his chest, numb everywhere his skin was exposed to the cold, the only sensation he could feel was his blood racing.

" _Please, they are children_ ," Mother begged in Creole as they ran. " _Please, let them go_."

Doflamingo turned to see the strange man's hands on Mother's shoulders. Dark hands with black ink like some sort of criminal. Something dropped inside him, a snap. His anger burned hot, hot, hot—and suddenly—cold.

He skidded to a stop, picked up a hefty rock from amongst the trash and lobbed it straight at the man's head.

There was a glint in the man's eye as he pushed Mother away roughly and stepped back, the rock hitting the side of the shed. The loud thud alarmed Father, who had just rounded the corner.

There was a flash of blue, and suddenly, the tall stranger rose like a nightmare from behind Rosinante, his eerie pale-gold eyes glaring at Doflamingo as his arms emerged from the layers of cloaks to wrap around Rosinante. He straightened and the movement tore Rosinante's hand away.

"Ah!" A short surprised noise from Rosinante.

Doflamingo started to reach out, but the man jerked away. The blinding sunlight fell full on Doflamingo's face and in a couple of long strides, the man was already up the top of the hill, Rosinante in his arms. He stared down, a dark silhouette, with his eyes gleaming, meeting Doflamingo's gaze directly. In his arms, comprehension began to dawn on Rosinante's face as the initial shock passed, quickly morphing to terror. He reached out for Doflamingo. "Doffy! Help—"

Time seemed to stop. There was Rosinante, small hand outstretched, red eyes wide with terror behind his messy blonde bangs. There was Doflamingo, body frustratingly slow, not moving, in half-forgotten pain and short of breath. There was the strange man, with his white hat and many cloaks and gold eyes and earrings staring at Doflamingo like a king passing judgment.

Doflamingo snarled and the man raised his arm, mirroring Rosinante's. The sunlight illuminated the black markings on the back of his hand and each finger.

" _Room_ ," spoke the man, tone dark and soft and almost lost in the wind. He flipped his hand round and curled his fingers in. " _Shambles_."

A flash of blue— 

 

—and they were gone, with only an empty can clinking as it fell down the hill to smack Doflamingo in the shin.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honoured by the amazing reception, you've all been so, so fun and kind and encouraging with your comments. They really brighten my day in this rough period of my life and I'm very grateful even if I don't always have the energy to reply right away. Thanks for your patience and support! 
> 
> Also since someone asked for my social media-- I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/codedredalert) and [tumblr](https://codedredalert.tumblr.com/). It's mostly art, sometimes fic updates/previews, sometimes just rambling about fictional pirates.
> 
> Anyway, hope that this brought you some joy during quarantine hahaha. Please stay safe and healthy and strong in these trying times!!


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